Dealing with Dung
by whitetiger91
Summary: Sell a necklace to Death Eaters? Too easy. Mundungus Fletcher can handle anything, for the right price. Written for the DAII forum Fairytales Challenge. May eventually be a MC on the life of our favourite cheap-skate.
**Dealing with Dung**

 _ **A/N: This story, from which no profit will be made, was written for the Diagon Alley II Fairytales Challenge and the Versatility challenge. This entry was written for the classic category: The Golden Goose where I was to write about greed or about Mundungus Fletcher (the two go hand-in-hand so I did both). I'm not sure if I managed to capture his voice, but I do hope you enjoy this interpretation of how Mundungus came to be kicked out of the Hog's Head Inn for life :)**_

 _ **Word count: 1716 words**_

* * *

"Dammit! Let's get this done already!"

Mundungus jumped as the man opposite him slammed his fist onto the table, resulting in firewhiskey sloshing all over the table. Unable to meet the man's foreboding, dark eyes, he stared longingly at the amber liquid as it soaked into the wood. What a waste.

"Don't give me that, Jugson, I've decided on the price. It's up to Dungy here to make the right decision," Gibbon said.

Looking up, Mundungus watched as his other companion's blue eyes twinkled, daring him to contradict him. He couldn't help it, however; sixty Galleons was no where near the price he had been hoping to get for the necklace he was gripping. Neither of these gentlemen seemed to realise the fine art of bargaining.

Licking his lips, he said, "Well, now, I really don't think… well, you see… I really think…" Gibbon leant forward, eyes now narrowed. Mundungus could smell the alcohol on his breath and leant back, nose crinkled. Clearing his throat, he continued, "Six hundred Galleons. Yes, six hundred; that would be a more suitable price, don't you think, boys? It is Goblin-handcrafted gold, you know."

Gibbon growled, his hand reaching down into his pocket and began fishing for something. Mundungus sincerely hoped it would be the coins he sought, yet decided to be on the safe side. Placing the necklace into his pocket and raising his own hand into the air, he snapped his fingers.

"Bartender! Another round for my… friends."

Flashing the men a toothy smile, he tapped his foot and snapped his fingers once more, waiting for the disgruntled bartender to comply. The tall, bearded wizard sent him a glare, wiping a goblet with a filthy rag. Jeesh, Aberforth was certainly not like his brother. Gulping, he put down his hand and occupied himself with lighting another cigarette.

"You listen here, Fletcher. We want that necklace, and we will have it," Jugson growled, pulling Mundungus' wand tip away from the cigarette he held. "Do you understand?"

Mundungus shrunk back and nodded. Jugson's eyes glinted menacingly, the Death Eater's face close enough that he could see the tiniest of whiskers forming on the man's freshly-shaven chin.

He gulped. Sweat had broken out on his brow, and he could feel his heart thrashing wildly against his rib cage. He shouldn't have had to be there. Not with these people, what was Albus thinking? Mundungus respected the older wizard, especially for his acknowledgement of him as being the cunning entrepreneur that he was, but still… Couldn't he have chosen another member of the Order for this task? All Albus had wanted was to find out how badly He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wanted the stupid necklace—surely anyone else could have done it.

"Well, do we have a deal?" Gibbon asked, his own wand now trained on Mundungus' throat.

Thankfully, Aberforth chose that moment to come over, a tray of drinks balanced on one hand. "Is there a problem?" he asked, surveying the three men.

Gibbon withdrew his wand, eyes not leaving Mundungus' face. "Just conducting some friendly business."

Jugson, on the other hand, scrunched up his nose. His eyes on the glasses the bartender sat down, he asked with a sneer, "Do you have anything that's clean?"

Aberforth's eyebrows shot up into his grey hair. Picking up the glass just in front of Jugson, he lifted it to his lips, drew breath and spat into the glass. Taking the rag off his shoulder, he wiped away the spittle and placed it back in front of the wizard. "There ya go."

Jugson glowered at him, but Aberforth had already walked away, ready to serve the new customers that had wandered in from outside. Gibbon had raised his wand again, leaving Mundungus to squirm in his seat.

"Alright, alright… I'll give you the necklace. For 500 Galleons." It was fair enough; after all, he was risking his life.

Jugson threw his hands up into the air as Gibbon growled, "Give it to us!"

Wincing, Mundungus hastily fished around his robe pocket and withdrew the necklace. It glittered under the dim candlelight, making it hard for him to drop it into Gibbon's outstretched palm. The man leant forward and snatched it out of his hands, dropping a small velvet pouch onto the table.

Mundungus blinked for a minute, still entranced by the gold, before his eyes landed on the pouch. His hand shot out and he picked it up, cradling it towards him. It felt quite heavy, and he smiled. He could hear Gibbon and Jugson's chairs scrape back against the rough floorboards, but didn't bother to look up. Waving his hand in their direction, he said, "Pleasure doing business with you." Then, not waiting for their grunts of agreement, he pulled back the strings keeping the pouch closed. Peering inside, he saw a handful of gold coins sparkling away.

Perfect. Albus hadn't specified what price he should ask, satisfied enough if the Death Eaters had handed over a single Sickle or Knut. The amount of gold in the pouch was more than enough for what he had sold them.

Unfortunately, Gibbon seemed to agree with him. Mundungus found himself jumping in his seat again as the Death Eater bellowed, "Wait one minute—where's the Goblin mark on this? This—this is plastic!"

Peering up, he saw Gibbon whip around with his wand drawn, pointed directly at his heart. "You little twit. Think it's a good idea to try and trick us, huh? Thought you'd give us a fake, did you? Well, we'll teach you not to mess with us!"

Mundungus ducked underneath the table just in time, a red beam of light narrowly missing his head. It was soon followed by another spell, this time a purple colour. Shielding the back of his head with his arms, he crawled further underneath the table. The few patrons within the bar shouted and screamed, as more and more spells thundered around the room.

Dammit. Albus had warned him that the spell he had placed on it would wear off and reveal the necklace as an imitation; there was no way he would have given them the real thing. Nevertheless, how was he supposed to know that it would do so whilst he was still negotiating a price for it? Maybe he should've just accepted the sixty Galleons...

He pressed his nose to the floor and squeezed his eyes shut as the table leg to his left splintered under a spell. Another scream followed, before a loud bang—the loudest of them all—echoed throughout the room.

"Enough! I want you to leave my bar right now, I shall have no hesitation in explaining to the Aurors why there are two unconscious bodies lying on my floor."

Cracking his eyes open, Mundungus inched forward so that he had a better view of what was going on. Aberforth had his wand out and was pointing it at Gibbon, his chest heaving and face red. His eyes bore into the Death Eater's face as he nodded to Jugson, who was lying unconscious on the floor.

"Well?"

Gibbon looked back and forth from the bartender to his companion, before putting his wand away. With a sneer, he warned, "Don't think I will forget this. You be warned, my friends and I will be back to visit your precious pub." Then, walking to Jugson and hoisting him up onto his shoulder, with some difficulty, he twisted on his foot and Disapparated.

Aberforth glowered at the spot they disappeared from, seething. Waving around his wand, he began to right the room, mending the shattered glass windows and broken furniture. Then, pleased that the place was restored to its rightful, dim appearance, he spoke to the occupants. "Free drinks on me."

No one cheered, a few rattled wizards only going so far as to crack a smile as they tried to appear calm and collected for their friends. Carefully, Mundungus pulled himself from under the table and sat back on his chair. His hands shook a little, but thankfully Gibbon had managed to somehow leave Jugson's untouched glass of Firewhiskey unscathed.

"Uh-uh, that means you, too."

The rim of the glass had barely touched his lip when Aberforth came to stand before him, hands on hips. Sighing as he put the glass down, Mundungus looked at him. "I thought I was done for. Thanks, mate."

"You can thank me by leaving."

"What?"

"You heard me. I have no idea why anyone would be stupid enough to put their life in danger like that, and frankly, I don't give a goat's ass why they would, but when they also put my pub in danger, well, they've got to go." Aberforth glowered down at him. When Mundungus didn't immediately move, he jerked his thumb towards the door.

Mundungus stood up, feeling only a little bit intimidated by Aberforth's height. Holding up his hands, he tried to placate the man. "Woah, woah, easy there. I was only followin' your brother's orders now, wasn't I? You should be thanking me, you should."

Aberforth poked him in the chest. His blue eyes were stirred up by stormy, grey clouds, leaving Mundungus no choice but to gulp. "Of course my brother would order someone to risk their life, and of course that someone would do it. Now you listen here, Dung, I don't want to see you, or any of your 'friends' in my pub again, got it? Not tonight, not tomorrow, and not in twenty years!"

"Yeah, but it was for the Ord—"

"Get out!"

Rubbing the place where Aberforth had poked him, Mundungus pulled his cloak tighter around him and headed out the door. What was his problem?

The afternoon air outside had turned windy, blowing across his cheeks. Ah well, he had done his part and found out what Albus needed. Voldemort's followers had indeed wanted that necklace, and had even paid him for it. He should really go and inform the Order now. Taking a few steps along the footpath, the coin pouch clinking in his pocket, he paused. On second thought, they didn't need to know how much he had been paid for the jewellery, now, did he? After all, he had earned a well-deserved break; he might as well go and enjoy the rest of his night at another, friendlier pub.


End file.
